


reunion

by scheherazade



Category: D-BOYS, Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: That’s how it goes, and if everyone else learns that lesson eventually, then Araki isn’t a freak who never figured out how to let go of something long since good and gone.





	reunion

**Author's Note:**

> (originally written in 2018 for a drabble request)

So this is how the story goes: on a Monday, Zukki texts him to say, _Come get dinner with me and Adachi_. 

He’s busy. His phone battery ain’t what it used to be. He sees the message hours after any appropriate time for dinner. On his way home from an interminable day of meetings, promotional events, more agency meetings, Araki slumps in his seat. The half-empty train carriage sways on the tracks. 

He writes back: _sry just saw this. tell o-chan i said hi._

It’s been maybe eight years since he had any right to call Adachi any such thing, and they all know it, but what Zukki also neglected to write in his original message was: 

_You two idiots keep telling me separately that you miss each other. Stop using me as go-between for your problems._

And if that’s just Araki’s imagination, there’s no one who can call him out on it. As Kouji once said—without any hint of fondness—Araki’s imagination is a place best left uncharted. Unclear what he actually meant by that, but Tomo had laughed anyway. They tended to do that. Sometimes, Araki feels an entirely unjustified satisfaction watching the two of them run out of jokes, at a loss for what to say, after more than enough years to learn the worst of each other’s personalities.

That’s how it goes, and if everyone else learns that lesson eventually, then Araki isn’t a freak who never figured out how to let go of something long since good and gone. He isn’t a cliche and he isn’t jealous of his friends for remaining close when Araki was always the one who needed them both.

Adachi doesn’t need anyone looking out for him, as he’s made abundantly clear. If Araki still wonders, sometimes, it’s just habit. A bad one, at that, but he’s made his peace with his share of vices in his own time. It’s just another one of those things, like the fact that everyone loves Zukki, whether they realize it or not, and Araki is hardly an outlier in either respect. 

No. The real outlier is Zukki himself. Zukki, who texts back—past ten-thirty on a weeknight—in reply to a message that in no way indicated Araki had any interest in any sort of reunion like this:

_We’re at that bar near your place. Come have a drink._

The train comes to a stop, home beckoning beyond automatic doors and escalators grown familiar through years of use. Maybe that’s all it is: habit. Muscle memory, carrying him up to the street, into a close summer night, cloying as the smoking habit that Adachi never picked up from him, so that—Araki thinks—at least, is one thing even Zukki can’t blame him for.

 

* * *

 

When Araki shows up, Zukki gives Adachi a grin because _ha_ , told you so! Araki likes to keep busy because he doesn’t know how to operate any other way, or so he says, but Zukki remembers—knows—that Araki has always been a giant homebody at heart. It’s not about keeping busy; it’s about how busy has become normal. Araki needs things to be steady and reliable, because that’s how he makes sense of the world. He doesn’t like it when things change, and he hates it when people leave.

But that’s just the thing, and it’s funny, because between the two of them, everyone has always agreed that Araki is the smarter one. And yet, Araki somehow never realized that Adachi leaving Watanabe—leaving the idol industry, and all the bad memories it carried—that never had anything to do with Araki. 

Okay, so they’d had a pretty bad fight about it. It wasn’t really a fight, or shouldn’t have been, but Adachi had been spread far too thin for far too long and the last thing he wanted to hear was Araki demanding to know why he always ran when things got tough.

And Araki hadn’t meant it that way, either. What he meant was, _Why didn’t you say anything, why didn’t you ask for help_. It’s a question they all asked themselves, and Zukki gets that, and Adachi gets it, too. Now they just need their favorite idiot to realize it, and things can finally be okay again. The pair of them are far too similar, sometimes. 

For example: Araki slides into the booth across from them and opens with, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” To which Adachi says, without missing a beat, “It’s my long awaited rebellious phase. I’m a late bloomer.” And Zukki laughs a little too hard—so maybe he’s had a couple beers too many, what do you want from him—and Adachi and Araki give him the exact same look of exasperated indulgence. 

Another example: Adachi says, “It’s been a while, Araki-san,” and gets a polite response of, “You’re looking well.” As if there isn’t a text on Zukki’s phone that says, _tell o-chan i said hi_ , and any supposed irony in that statement is outweighed by years of Araki studiously not asking how Adachi is doing but always listening when Yuuya mentions off-hand that Adachi came around for dinner the other day. 

These two, Zukki thinks—with more fondness than he knew he possessed, except he always kind of suspected, because it’s these two—the two of them really are far too much alike. They spend all their time worrying, and never once stop to think that other people are allowed to look after them, too. 

“What’s so funny?” Araki asks when Zukki laughs to himself. Adachi looks at him as well, and Zukki just shrugs. He can’t do anything about the grin on his face, at the sight of them, sitting across a table from each other all these years later and on the exact same wavelength, still. 

Zukki says, “Nothing,” and, “You guys are the best.”

“Obviously,” snorts Araki, while Adachi hums his agreement, “No lies detected.”

“Next round’s on me,” Zukki says, because yeah, this is good. Things are going to be okay, it’s like riding a bike or learning to swim; you don’t forget a feeling like this.

 

* * *

 

“Bum a cigarette off you?”

When Adachi glances over, Araki just shrugs. The street has gone quiet, past midnight, even the most determined revelers conceding to the hour and the dark. Adachi thinks about how the streets will be full of fog and dew, in four hours’ time. He used to be able to sleep a whole night through. And Araki never used to enable his bad habits.

He hands over the whole pack of cigarettes. The way Araki fusses with the lighter says he rarely does this. Adachi decides not to call him out. 

“Zukki’s taking forever,” Araki says, a curl of smoke around the unprompted explanation of why he followed Adachi outside. 

“Maybe he fell asleep on the toilet.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

They share a snort. Adachi tosses his cigarette butt and lights another. A voice in his head reprimands him for chainsmoking; it kind of weirds him out how his conscience has started to sound like Yuuya. Reflexively, Adachi checks his messages. No missed messages. Figures: Yuuya goes to bed early so he can wake up early, same schedule as his daughter, and the only other person who texts Adachi was sitting next to him all night. 

“So what’s with the flip phone,” Araki asks. 

His only excuse for never replying to messages. And the only way he’s been able to avoid constant reminders of how his friends went on without him, even if he knows that’s not factually accurate; sometimes, he feels as outdated as his Motorola.

“Would you believe me if I said I was technophobic?”

Araki snorts. “Suzuki-san’s bad influence?”

“Zukki’s not bad at technology.”

“Pretty sure he’s more familiar with semaphore than he is with social media.”

The mental image of Zukki wildly gesticulating with colored flags makes Adachi laugh. “Damn, Arayan.” The nickname rolls off his tongue. “That’s ice cold.”

“Yeah.” Araki smiles a little. “But am I wrong?”

“Almost never,” Zukki declares, stepping outside just in time to hear the last question. He glances from Adachi to Araki and back. “What are we talking about?”

“How hopeless you are,” Araki says, and Adachi adds, “Friendly concern.”

Zukki laughs. He swipes the half-smoked cigarette from Araki and takes a comically long drag. Araki plucks it straight from his lips. 

“Moocher.”

“Pfft.” Zukki’s scoff comes out as a puff of smoke. He coughs a little. “You bummed that off Adachin anyway. But what are friends for, huh?”

Before Araki can come up with any kind of retort, Zukki drapes his arms across both their shoulders. “All right, bring it in! Group hug!”

Adachi stoops under the weight; it’s less a hug and more Zukki using them to hold himself up, hanging between them like some human scarecrow. He’s laughing, though, when Araki threatens to dump him on his ass. 

Araki would never do any such thing, and they all know it.

Adachi takes a step forward. His hand bumps Zukki’s elbow; Araki’s hand settles around his waist to close the circle. Zukki grins at the both of them, looking far too pleased with himself. In that moment, Adachi can’t even blame him. 

“Let’s do this again,” Zukki decides as they walk to the train station. “Soon. As soon as Adachin gets a real phone. I’ll make a LINE group.”

“Amazed you know what a LINE group is,” Araki notes.

“Or just send a messenger pigeon,” Adachi suggests. 

Zukki laughs and proceeds to do a poor imitation of what’s probably supposed to be a pigeon. His arms flap haphazardly as he teeters down the sidewalk. Adachi has never heard a pigeon caw, but there are probably stranger things. 

Things like: Araki walking beside him, companionable and close, a trail of ash falling from a still-lit cigarette. Zukki insisting, _he’ll come, of course he’ll come, he acts all tough but we all know about Arayan’s secret marshmallow center_. And the hell of it is that Adachi always knew, too. Somehow, he convinced himself otherwise.

Araki watches Zukki and wonders out loud, “Is he gonna make it home at this rate?”

“I’ve got him,” Adachi says. “It’s not out of the way for me.”

“He’s supposed to be the one looking after you.”

“That’s what he thinks, too.” As if Zukki is even capable of looking after himself half the time. 

The way Araki’s lip twitches says he’s thinking the same.

“See you around,” Araki says when they reach his apartment complex. Zukki is leaning on Adachi’s shoulder, grin gone sleepy and fond as he waves Araki good night. “Semaphore or social media. Just send a signal you’re alive tomorrow, huh, Suzuki-san?”

“Yessir, Araki-sama.” Zukki snickers when Adachi elbows him. “Ow. Okay. Sleep tight!”

“Night, Arayan,” Adachi adds. And, “See you soon.”

He doesn’t need to phrase it as a question. Araki smiles back. “Yeah,” he says. “Night, O-chan.”


End file.
